I Love My Quidditch Obsessed Captain
by pointblankdarcy
Summary: IMQOC : KBOW.  Katie finds Oliver irritating. Read as she discovers something more that she feels about him. All the way from PoA to DH and beyond.
1. Spearing Sausages

**Chapter One:** _Spearing Sausages_

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own any characters in the Harry Potter universe. I do own the plot, however._

* * *

"WAKE UP, Bell!"

I groaned and turned over in my bed, my lovely soft wet bed. WET? I couldn't have peed… Could I've?

Opening one eye, I saw Oliver I'm-A-Crazy-Ass-Quidditch-Captain-Who's-Pissed-Off-With-Your-Lazy-Ass-In-Bed-Get-Out-And-Go-For-Training-NOW Wood standing beside my bed with a grinning George Weasley holding a bucket of ice-cold water.

I lost it. I let out a horrible shriek that would've shamed a hag. George, to all his credit, immediately yelled, dropped the bucket and ran off. Oliver, damn him, just stood there glowering.

"Bell, if you have stopped being a child, please get your butt (Oliver never said the word 'ass') down to the Pitch in 5 minutes. That's all." He walked off.

I growled. Apart from being covered with wet patches and in danger of catching a cold, I was in my-

"By the way, nice pyjamas, Bell."

I shrieked again.

* * *

"Why, oh why, did McGonagall give permission to the Quidditch Captains to enter the opposite gender's dorm?" I gritted my teeth as Oliver walked past.

Alicia and Angelina, who had heard everything from the Weasleys, just chuckled.

"Forget about it, Katie. He did that to us when we were sleeping in a couple of years ago. Only it was much worse." Alicia nonchalantly grabbed her toast back from George.

"How could it be worse? Were you two wearing bright red pyjamas with white cows on them?" I furiously speared a sausage.

"Ouch." Fred grimaced. I threw him a look.

"He told these two to empty frogs in cold water **with ice** on us," Angelina said, glancing pointedly at the two redheads.

"And then he asked us to run a few rounds round the Pitch."

"It helped us to warm up, but we got really exhausted after what, it must have been the fifth round."

"So he said to cancel the next ten, and we went to practice."

"Wow. I bow to him." I shook my head and speared another sausage, imagining it to be Oliver's FACE. I wasn't that dirty-minded to think of other parts of his anatomy. Nope, not innocent old me. Although it was good to see two identical twins wince.

* * *

I met with Leanne later on, and she graciously refrained from bringing up the topic. She did, however, go on and on about Oliver.

I kept quiet for the first few lessons, but when she rattled on and on during Transfiguration, which was my favourite lesson, I just glared at her and she shut up. Oh, the power of mine eye.

Not that I didn't _like_ Oliver. I just didn't think he was worthy of any girl to fawn over.

* * *

"Hey! Let's play a game!" Fred jumped around the common room.

I rolled my eyes. We were supposed to discuss Quidditch tactics (except for Harry - he had some stuff to do) , and here that little imp was, jumping around like some mad frog around the room. I hoped he would end up hopping into the fire.

"Okay team, it's late, get to bed." Oliver started to get up, but Fred capered up to him and pushed him back down.

"No, no Captain dear. It's time to have some fun!" What had gotten into Fred? I raised my eyebrows to George, who rolled his eyes and yanked Fred's pants, so that the mad buffoon sat down hard.

"Ow. Okay here it goes. I'm gonna say a word, and the next person's going to say something that they associate with the word and so on. It must be truthful and it must be the first thing that he/she thinks of." Fred rubbed his buttock.

"Hot."

"Pink." This from Angelina.

"Yuck!" I hated pink.

"Fouls," said Oliver.

"Slytherin." Alicia played with her fingernails.

"Arses." George looked bored.

"Crazy."

"Oliver Wood."

"Obsessive tyrant."

"Me?"

A pause. Then, all of us in chorus, "Yes."

"Oh." He looked so downcast, so I tried to comfort him somehow. "Aw, don't worry dear Captain, I'm just having a bad day."

"What about when you have a good day? What am I then?"

"Erm, a crazy Quidditch Captain?" I said.

"I'm going to bed."

* * *

I, however, did not. I had an essay for Snape to finish.

I did sleep on the sofa though. I distinctly remember my essay being somewhere in the region of the armchairs…

"She looks so cute when she's asleep, doncha think?"

"Oh, yes my dear, yes!"

Two ridiculously high-pitched voices awoke me from my slumber.

"Oh my goodness…" I groaned as I fumbled with my crumpled robes.

"Here, your essay, dear Kitty-Kat." A hand pulled me up and thrust my papers into my hand. Fred? Or was it George?

I mumbled thanks and asked for the time.

"Let's see… It's between seven thirty-one and seven twenty-nine. Guess."

* * *

I went up to bathe and change, enduring Leanne's interrogation of my whereabouts. I suspect that she had thought I was in the arms of an unknown mysterious guy or some other romantic fantasy. Leanne was a great friend and all that, but she was a hopeless romantic, something that I often teased her about.

"Thank Merlin for weekends," I sighed, as I went down to breakfast with Leanne. My muscles still ached with the previous' day's practice, and I had had a terrible dream of Oliver as a mad frog hopping around, yelling for me to wake up.

"Ooh!" I turned to Leanne, exasperated.

Oliver Wood, in his impeccable black turtleneck and long brown pants, was striding towards me with the Practice Look. I immediately steered Leanne towards the breakfast table.

"Bell!"

I ignored him and grabbed some toast.

"Bell! I've booked the Pitch this afternoon so that we could practice those strategies we discussed last night. Practice's at four, be punctual." I glared at him, my mood turning sour. I love Quidditch, really, I do. I just think that there is a difference between loving something and being overly enthusiastic/obsessive about it.

Still holding the glare, I speared a sausage.

My dear mad frog Captain swallowed.

I gave him a feral grin.

* * *

End of Chapter One. 


	2. That's My Girl

**Chapter Two: **_That's My Girl_

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own any characters in the Harry Potter universe._

* * *

I groaned. My muscles ached as if they were on fire. _Bloody Oliver… Practice and practice and practice and oh my _god_, my ass hurts_! 

Next to me, Alicia and Angelina were pretty much doing the same thing as me, which was rubbing all their sore muscles. The twins were rubbing their butts, which was something I did not want to see. I groaned again, and winced as Oliver smacked me on my back.

"Good practice, eh?"

I could only glare at him. The tough practice was probably revenge for making him fear me during breakfast. I wished for a pitchfork, so I could really spear –

"I'm going to shower, sleep and finally enjoy my weekend," said Alicia, who kept wincing as she stood up, pulling Angelina with her. I made to go after them, but I was stopped by Oliver.

"Bell, I need to, ah, talk with you." He glanced over at the Weasleys, who were clearly eavesdropping, made obvious by their lack of butt-rubbing.

The twins got the message and left. I turned to Oliver, who had his I've-Gotta-Say-Something-Bear-With-Me Look. He sure has a range of faces, doesn't he?

"Oliver? OLIVER!" I nudged him with my foot, curiosity taking over annoyance. Oliver had spaced out. Typical cliff-hanger.

"Ah, yes, talk. Look, Bell, I know that lately you've been a bit angry at me, and I don't want that anger to interrupt the training sessions. As you know, this Quidditch season is the last season for me and… Are you listening?"

I stared at Oliver. I was wrong about the Look. I had been mistaken; it was the Pep-Talk Look.

"Bell?"

I wanted to kick him. Real bad.

"BELL!"

I really wished I had my wand. I was debating whether to kick him in a place where the sun don't shine or just walk off after slapping him.

"KATHERINE BELL!"

"What?" I snapped.

"Er, your attention kind of drifted… Anyway, were you listening to a word I said?" Oliver looked a little angry.

"Yes, if you must know," I began.

Just as Oliver was about to open his mouth to continue his speech, I rushed.

"Anyhow, I know that it is your final year and you really want the Cup. I understand that you don't want to risk any of your players to go bonkers in the very beginning of the season, and I understand that, really. But I just think that you yourself shouldn't be so obsessed with Quidditch; you should take a break and stop working us to our deaths!" There, I'd said it.

"Do you guys really think that I'm obsessed with Quidditch? And that I'm being unreasonable?" I saw amusement and a tinge of worry in Oliver's eyes. Goody, no anger!

"Well, yes, on both counts. For example, you gave us training on the day right after our last one. We all love Quidditch, and I don't think anyone would love being killed by Quidditch practice." A look in Oliver's eyes suggested he would. I backed away just a little bit.

A long silence threatened to settle between my Captain and me, so I attempted to fend off that threat. "So, erm thanks for the practice and the chance for me to give feedback and have a nice froggy Quidditch death."

I walked a few steps before I realized what I had just said. Oliver was looking at me with a bewildered expression. He opened his mouth and I ran for it.

* * *

"I wasn't going to hurt you, you know." 

"Whatever, Oliver, sod off," I growled sourly. I was tired of Oliver's snide remarks about my running off. How was I to know that he wasn't about to hex me, or worse, give me remedial Quidditch?

"He's absolutely stunning…" This comment came from Leanne, who was watching Oliver walk off to his dorm. Talk about obsession, this here is one Oliver-crazed woman, ladies and gentlemen.

"Kill me," I said. I was in no mood to listen to a monologue about Oliver's stunning qualities. "I warn you, Leanne, if you dare continue from that remark, I'll Stun you, and we'll see who's 'stunning'." See, I'm a reasonable person. I warn those who are in danger. From me. Insert smirk here.

Leanne huffed but changed the subject. She knew better than to provoke me when I was in a grouchy mood.

"Have you done Snape's essay yet?" She asked, rummaging through her papers for some parchment.

"Yes, it's in my Potions book," I replied, not looking up from my Transfiguration notes. Owl to rat, lemons to flowers; I love this subject!

Ahhhh, how I love it when normality resumes.

* * *

"I'm starving," I moaned as my stomach growled yet again. Twice in five minutes, if you must know. 

"Relax, dinner's in ten." Leanne reassured me. What would I be without her? Besides not hearing about Oliver's charm, romantic stories and the latest in fashion, I'd be dying.

"Yeah, well, dinner had better be ready for me. I don't think my stomach's going to be exactly kind to it," I grumbled.

"Pig!" the twins chorused as they came down from their dorm. A sooty Lee Jordan followed them. I did not want to know anything about what they were doing in there. Or inventing, for that matter.

"Shut up! I'm hungry, and my stomach's hydrochloric acid is eating my body!" I snarled. I'm no pig! They were the ones who ate a whole chicken between them, and finished off with three goblets of pumpkin juice apiece and a whole bloody cheesecake last Halloween! And they call _me_ a pig! The world's coming to an end! Horrors!

"Eh?" Fred raised his eyebrow.

"Acid?" So did his twin. Merlin, I want to be able to do that!

"Is it edible?" Chorus again. Did they think they were a choir duo or what?

Ah, the joys of having access to Muggle science books back at home. I knew something the smart-arsed fifth-years did not. Big deal, my stomach's saying. I couldn't help but agree.

"Let's go down now, maybe they'll start early," Lee said, wiping soot off his robes.

Leanne, who was still writing away and who did not pay attention to the past few minutes, muttered something like, "Yeah, Oliver's going to be there, he's always early…"

Oh, my _dear_ girl.

* * *

"Well, that was a nice dinner," I commented brightly. 

"Yeah, _very_ nice," Leanne replied sarcastically. "Really nice. You aren't the one with bright orange hair, are you?"

I decided not to answer that. The twins had slipped some… something that I have no idea about into Leanne's juice. Made her hair bright orange. The really bad thing was that Oliver was sitting across her. She was _really_, and I mean really, pissed off with them, to say the very least.

I don't reckon their robes will come down anytime soon, unless old Filch decides they're too much of an eyesore, hovering above the tables, somewhere near the ceiling.

Then again, Filch doesn't like them much. He'd probably be gloating away, maybe even taking a picture of the spectacle.

Did I mention Leanne set their pants on fire?

I couldn't believe it of her. I'm freaking impressed.

Now _that's_ my girl.

* * *

End of Chapter Two. Thanks for the reviews guys! 


	3. I Could Have Kissed The Prat

**Chapter Three: **_I Could Have Kissed The Prat_

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own any characters in the HP universe._

* * *

OWLS! More than a year away and the Professors have already started to harp on and on about them. 

Needless to say, Hogsmeade outings seem more appealing during weekends. I mean, who would rather stay in the castle and do homework when you have an alternative: to have fun in the village of Hogsmeade. I suppose Hermione Granger would.

However, there is another factor to take into account.

"We are going to have practice everyday!" No prizes for the right answer as to who made that statement.

"OLIVER!" All of us retorted angrily. Well, more of a whine. But we were loud.

You got to admit, facing six very furious people has to be daunting, even for a burly Quidditch Captain.

"Okay, okay. I'll let you guys off on Sunday," he backed down.

No amount of whining or pleading would make him decrease the number of practices. Made him go into Pep-Talk mode, it did instead.

"Don't you guys want to win the Cup?" he would ask.

Of course, we had to agree. Then he'd give that annoying Ha!-That's-Exactly-My-Point smile.

Damn him.

Hence, I, who _never_ missed a trip to Hogsmeade in my four years in Hogwarts, had to stay in the castle to do homework, with the solid promise of a good old tiring practice in the later hours of the afternoon.

Once again, damn him.

Leanne promised to bring back some of Honeydukes' chocolates to mollify me; I was in no good temper. It was _that_ time of the month, if you catch my drift.

* * *

It was late afternoon, and the team was headed up to the castle. We were more than a little grumpy towards Oliver, but he was totally oblivious. You have to give that boy credit. He wouldn't notice a dancing Snape, not even if said Professor kissed him on the mouth. 

Yuck, by the way.

The staircase to the Gryffindor common room was uncommonly clogged. I raised my eyebrows (both) at the twins, who were very much noticeably taller than me, and could therefore see across the crowd of students, who were mostly made up of third-years. Obviously fresh from Hogsmeade, my jealous mind noted.

"Somebody get Professor Dumbledore. Quick!" Percy's voice was sharper than usual. I dug my elbow into a twin's stomach as everyone except me let out horrified exclamations. I hated my height.

"Ow! Oh, er, Katie. The Fat Lady's portrait's been ripped. Wait…" unknown twin paused. Dumbledore and Peeves were having a conversation. "Merlin. Peeves said it was by Sirius Black!"

I was one hundred percent stunned.

The whole school had to sleep in the Great Hall that night.

Other than the odd question regarding Sirius Black, there was only one other query in my mind. Odd, and more than a little strange, but… Is Dumbledore's favourite colour purple?

With that nut of a question still buzzing around in my head, I fell asleep, with Leanne's dream mutterings in my ear – her sleeping bag was beside mine.

* * *

I have to say, Professor Lupin totally rocks. His lessons rivalled McGonagall's in terms of ranking. I rank lessons according to my level of interest and the general liking of the teacher. Transfiguration is first and DADA is a close second. Tons better than dear Gilderoy Lockhart. 

Then again, anyone can be better than that smiling git. Speaking of gits and the like…

I would like to declare that Oliver Wood is a prat. A couple of weeks had passed since the Black incident, and he (Oliver) had not let up the number of practices, even though the match was very much closer and all of us were exhausted.

I told this to Leanne, whose bright orange hair had been fixed by none other than moi. She immediately came up with reasons to counter that last statement. I have no idea how Oliver's butt has to do with him being a prat, but Leanne being Leanne, I dared not say a word.

"Bell!" Speak of the devil. "Hey, Bell, get a good night's sleep tomorrow, okay? I don't want any of my brilliant Chasers getting sloppy!" That said, my insanely RUDE Quidditch Captain rushed off, triggering a monologue from Leanne which I ignored.

Once more, I would like to declare that Oliver 'Insane Quidditch Captain' Wood is a prat.

Suddenly, breakfast seemed so gross. Leanne, concerned, stopped her Oliver-gush when she saw me push away my toast. I never leave my toast unfinished.

"You okay, Katie?"

"Yeah, just the pre-match jitters," I mumbled. Leanne gave me a hug. Aw, I love that girl!

"You'll be fine, 'kay?" I nodded.

I have the unfortunate affliction called Pre-Quidditch-Match Jitters, which will strike me every single time Oliver tells us to "sleep well". Depending on the day that he says some phrase that has the same meaning as 'Quidditch match up soon, be ready!', I'd be nervous all the way till the match itself. Talk about butterflies, I have full grown eagles in my stomach!

Leanne may be a loony at times, but she's a real good friend. I told her that. She smiled wryly and gave me another hug.

* * *

Oh Merlin's baggy underpants! That match had to be the worst ever! 

As I paced around the changing room, mud all over me, Fred and George were discussing in low voices. Alicia and Angelina were trying to get warm. Need I mention the state of their robes as well? (Oh well, they were as muddy as me.)

"He'll be alright, right?" I asked no one in particular. I may not have had much interaction with Harry, but he was a part of the team. Moreover, the fall he took was…

"Yeah… He'll be fine, Katie, he's been through worse," Fred replied softly, although I saw the worry in his eyes.

The door opened and McGonagall walked in. "You can see Harry now, he's in the Wing."

All of us scrambled to our feet (for those who were sitting) and followed our Head of House into the Hospital Wing. With the notable exception of Mr Oliver Wood.

Harry's eyes were closed. I guess he was still unconscious. We talked in low whispers, while Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger sat by the opposite side of the bed, dripping wet.

Then his eyes opened. A frisson of relief went through all of us.

All of us began talking at once. We tried to distract him away from the obvious. But he asked about it anyway.

"Where's Wood?"

"Still in the showers," said Fred, "We think he's trying to drown himself."

I felt bad for Harry. His shoulders slumped and he put his face to his knees. Damn Oliver, damn him. Harry was obviously feeling that it was his fault that we'd lost. By keeping away, Oliver made it worse. Now Harry would think that we blamed him.

We tried to reassure him, talking about the definite possibility of winning. Didn't seem to work though. Madam Pomfrey chased us out; the mud had covered at least half the Wing.

I made up my mind to ignore Oliver for the next millennium.

* * *

"Hey Oliver, you okay?" I asked. He looked green. 

Yes, I know I made up my mind that I wouldn't talk to him. But a millennium in these circumstances is like a second. Well, a few months give or take.

The final was the next day. 24 hours never felt so short. Well, less than 24, much less.

Oliver nodded and continued prodding small Quidditch figures. He looked really worried. I felt kind of sorry for him. There he was, trying to do his best for the sport he loved, and we just took him for granted. Not only that, we abused him. He must have spent much of his time planning all the moves and we refused to listen to him with a simple 'no'. It wasn't a piece of cake, being a Quidditch Captain.

I resolved to be nicer to him. That said, it don't mean I won't scold him or… I'll be _nicer_, that's all.

I went back to the couch, joined Alicia and Angelina in listening to Fred and George's jokes. Harry was across the room, with his friends. Although all of us seemed to be carefree, with the exception of dear Oliver, we were very much full with tension.

It was a real relief when Oliver stood up suddenly (it wasn't his standing that relieved us; on the contrary, it made us all jump) and barked, "Team, bed!"

* * *

It was the Jitters that kept me awake. I wanted so badly to fall asleep. Nevertheless, as I have explained, Oliver's simple remark kept this loony fourteen-year-old awake. When my clock told me that it was eleven, I decided to grab a book and go down to the common room. 

I literally grabbed a random book and headed down, not making a single creak. Leanne was sleeping so peacefully I could kick her. Another piece of proof of my violent nature.

The common room was pretty empty. I say 'pretty' because I saw my dear Captain curled up at the table, his Quidditch figures flying around his head.

I rolled my eyes and sat down on an armchair. The book turned out to be _Quidditch Through The Ages_, which had been given to me by the snoring Captain. I opened the book at a random page and started to read.

* * *

"Changing rooms," said Wood tersely. All of us said nothing as we changed into our robes. 

Time flew by so fast I was amazed I wasn't bowled over. Wood shook hands with Flint. Funny how Quidditch reduces you to last names. Hooch blew her whistle. The Quidditch final had begun.

I couldn't remember much about the match.

I remember Johnson's goal and Flint's foul. I remember I almost died when Montague grabbed my head. I remember Potter nearly being hit by Bludgers. I remember Wood being hit by Bludgers twice in one shot. I remember scoring. But the most brilliant memory was of Harry Potter clutching the Snitch in his hand.

I swore I had died and gone to heaven.

We Chasers kept chanting, "We've won the Cup!" and dancing. Oliver was sobbing and hugging Harry, the twins were thumping the Seeker hard on the back and Dumbledore handed Oliver the Cup, which was then passed to Harry. That feeling of elation we felt right then was magical.

I was so freaking happy, I could have kissed Oliver, that damn prat, that horrible yet wonderful Captain.

* * *

End of Chapter Three. I shall be egoistic for once : I rock. I typed this entire chapter last night before studying for my Biology paper which was today. I love my mind! R&R like the sweet people you are! 

_nothingville, a.k.a. Darcy_


	4. Imps

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any characters from the Harry Potter universe. I do own the plot, though.

**Notes:** I am so sorry this came out so late.

* * *

Exams came and went. Caught up in the increasing violent whirlwind of time and papers, I had no choice but to serenely (as much as I could be) follow its path, as it destroyed and made anew.

I sound poetic.

As I said, exams came and went. By the way, I love Transfiguration, not least because I scored the highest in the level, but not most either. I should really get a medal. I'll settle with the hug McGonagall gave me.

"Oh, thank goodness the exams are over," groaned Leanne as we flopped down for breakfast. "I really hate Snape. He was totally horrible."

I had no love for Potions meself. But as for dear Professor Snape, ever since I saw him whack Marcus Flint on the head in the hallway, I have had a newfound respect for the man, greasy hair and all.

"Yeah, well." I mumbled, missing my soft bed.

"Heard about that Buckbeak thing?" Leanne asked.

I looked at the spread on the breakfast table and felt slightly nauseated. I missed the simple breakfast at home. Two more weeks…

"Yeah, Hagrid's pretty cut up about it," I replied. "During his exam, he just seemed so lifeless, you know?"

"I saw that too," my friend said quietly.

I sneaked a peek at the Staff table. The familiar hulking figure was missing.

* * *

Post-OWLS, the Weasley twins were _way_ too hyperactive. Imagine hyperactive twins. Imagine they were Weasley twins. Imagine they became more hyperactive than usual. Yes, you can roll your eyes, but they were a HORROR to behold and a TERROR to handle.

Fred did his hopping frog thing _again_. We were having a secret meeting to discuss about Oliver's farewell party. I figured the best time was when he was discussing his Quidditch prospects with Madam Hooch and McGonagall.

Anyway, I couldn't enlist George's help to calm that arse down because said twin was in cahoots with the mad arse.

I made mental notes to _accidentally_ push them into the fire or something.

"So where do you all want this to be?" Leanne asked us girls, ignoring the twins.

She was in the council as well as the team. We needed someone to be Oliver-crazy enough to plan a lavish party for him. Besides, she was a good party planner. Alicia, Angelina and I were no good at organisation. The twins were fairly good, but you can't blame us for taking precautions; Firewhisky was definitely out of the question.

"Not at our house!" chorused the cherubic twins, who were hopping _very_ close to the fireplace. I edged closer. One push…

"I've got a baby cousin and his family staying over," Angelina said.

We looked at Alicia. "Extended family invasion," she grimaced.

"I totally get that; me too," Leanne said gloomily.

Five pairs of eyes stared at me. Okay, two were jiggling around the room. They made me quite dizzy in fact.

I relented.

"Alright," I said resignedly, amid cheers, "but I got to ask my parents first. Plan the rest of the party; I'll owl them right now."

Such a nice friend, that Katie Bell.

* * *

_Dear Mom and Dad,_

_This is your dearest daughter requesting your help. I am currently being __forced__ to host Oliver Wood's farewell party. Remember him? Tall, burly, totally obsessed about Quidditch?_

_Please say yes, or I think Leanne will murder her extended family so that she can host the party herself. Yeah, she's a little mad about him nowadays._

_I am so sorry to impose on you like that, but it'll only be one night._

_Please reply ASAP._

_P.S. I really miss the breakfast._

_Love,_

_Kates._

I sealed the letter and let my lovely owl deliver it.

* * *

_Dear Kates,_

_Sure, just tell us the day and time. We'll bring Jasper out to the movies or something._

_Leanne has always fascinated me. Did she go on and on about Oliver?_

_We miss you at breakfast too, dear._

_Hope to see you real soon,_

_Mom and Dad._

I was horrified at the next part. It was splattered with – was that peanut butter? – brown and pink (eww) goop.

* * *

_Hey Kitty-Kat!_

_You didn't write to me all term! But it's okay, I wasn't that loneley. I actually forgot you were away. I remembered you were at skool when mommy got that leter about Oliver Wood._

_Did you get my present at Christmars? I liked yours!_

_Mom says my handwriting is getting neeter. But she says I should learn beter English. She says my speling is horible. I don't belive her._

_Love,_

_Jasp._

I smiled. Baby brother, you are so, so adorable. I couldn't wait to see Jasp and my parents.

I bounced back up to the common room to tell them the news; the letters had only taken fifteen minutes.

* * *

"Wahoo!"

"SHUT IT!" all of us girls roared at the two twins, who were so startled they really fell into the fire. I burst into laughter as they put the flames out of their hair.

Leanne rolled her eyes and pinched me lightly. Back to business, ma'am.

"Now that we've got just about everything ready, we just have to tell Oliver." From Leanne's tone, she was _dying_ to tell him.

"Oh, well, how about you then?" I offered. Leanne looked so grateful; I could stuff my head into a pillow and have nightmares.

"Really?" Alicia and Angelina nodded, remaining amazingly calm as Leanne squealed in joy.

She sped off.

I looked at my female team mates. I sniggered with them. Leanne, oh Leanne.

I looked at my male team mates. I fell over laughing, because the imps had fallen into the fireplace again when Leanne screamed. Serves them right.

I love Hogwarts.

* * *

End of chapter four. 


	5. Pavlova

**Chapter 5:** Pavlova

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any characters from the HP universe. I own the plot though.

* * *

I love my mother's breakfast. It's simple, yet it makes me full of happiness. My stomach and my eyes have had too much of Hogwart's rich spread meals and they rebel by churning the food contents around and around.

Yes, it was the last day of term! Wahoo!

Oliver sat across me, with the twins flanking him. Alicia and Angelina were on my left and Leanne, blushing like a typical love-struck Juliet, was on my right. We were going to tell him about the party.

Leanne's attempt at telling him about it was a fiasco. She just kind of _spluttered_ at him. Oliver had shaken his head, muttered some word (I think it was 'mental') and ducked behind _Quidditch Through the Ages_.

Hence the impromptu breakfast invite.

"So, Oliver, what're you up to this holidays?" Fred asked casually.

"Hmmpf." That was a sleepy grunt, if you couldn't tell.

The rest of us shared glances.

"I don't think I got you," George said loudly, breaking the silence.

"Oh, er, nothing much. Why?" Oliver finally seemed to have woken up. All six of us rolled our eyes.

"We've planned something. Sort of a little get-together, at my house," I ventured.

"Yeah, a farewell party," Angelina put in.

Alicia added a "For you".

We looked at our Captain, his eyes blinking slowly, like a demented owl. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes again.

* * *

Home sweet home!

I opened the front door of my home and gasped as a cannonball hit me in the legs.

"Kitty, you're home!" Jasper squealed as he refused to let go of my jeans.

Dad grinned as he lugged my trunk into the house. Mom managed to lift Jasper off my jeans and allow me to actually step into the place I had left a little more than three-quarters of a year before.

"Hungry, Kates?" Mom asked, going into the kitchen.

"No thanks, Mom!" I called, walking up to my bedroom on the second floor. I could hear Jasp arguing with Mom. He wanted to interrogate me about the year. I sighed and lay back on my soft bed, closing my eyes.

After what seemed like a few seconds, I was crushed by a boulder.

"JASPER!" I yelled, trying to catch hold of my giggling seven year old brother.

"Dinner's ready!" he laughed, running down the stairs.

I groaned and flopped back down on my bed after looking at my alarm clock. I had slept for three hours. Combing through my messy hair with my fingers, I freshened up in my bathroom before going down to steak and potatoes.

"How was school, Kitty?" Jasp asked, when all of us Bells were in the living room, enjoying a nice family talk.

"Yeah, Kates, start at the beginning," Dad said, sipping his iced tea.

"Well, I learnt that spearing sausages is a good way to relieve stress caused by a Captain who empties ice cold water on people…" I began, lost in the memories of the term that had just gone by.

* * *

"Jelly?"

"Check."

"Butterbeer?"

"Check."

"Pavlova?"

"What?"

"That cake with loads of cream and berries on it."

"Oh, check."

"That should be all, I think." Leanne sighed as she put down the clipboard.

I surveyed my living room. It was nice, the decorations. Alicia was just finished with the streamers, and Angelina was trying to tie up the banner, which I'd made.

It said: We'll miss you, Captain!

Fred and George were busy arranging the presents and the mini indoor fireworks show.

Jasp was out watching a movie with Mom and Dad.

All of us were just about set and ready to go. The only thing missing was Mr Oliver Wood.

Just when we were conferring whether to kidnap him, the doorbell rang.

Enter the impeccably dressed Mr Oliver Wood in a bloody _tuxedo_. You should have heard us groan.

"Bloody hell, Oliver, it's a farewell party! Not a wedding!" Fred gasped.

George was on the floor in a fake dead faint. I could see him shaking with laughter though.

Us girls just stared at Oliver in a mixture of helplessness and humour.

I was, of course, the first one who started laughing my arse off.

Oliver's face flushed. Like a tomato.

While the others were still chuckling their life away, I led Oliver to the couch, where he slumped in defeat.

"I really screwed this up," he told me unhappily.

"Aw, no dear Captain, you just started the night off with a bang!" I replied, grinning. "It's a little hot; you might want to at least take off the jacket?"

He handed me the black jacket soundlessly, putting his face into his hands. I hung it up and went back to sit next to him. The others were hastily recovering, the fastest being Leanne.

He removed his head from his hands, hair all tousled up. I couldn't help but smile a little fondly. His hair always stuck up like a porcupine's quills. Reminded me of Jasper when he sleeps, actually.

"What?" Oliver's soft voice interrupted my thoughts, and I stood up hurriedly, aware that I had been smiling goofily at him for the past minute. In my haste, I did _not _fall on him. I stepped on his foot.

"OW! Gah!" He clutched his foot in his hands, hands tearing away the grey sock.

I groaned inwardly at my clumsiness. Rushing for some ice, I placed the cold compress against the arch of his foot, while he let out some well-chosen Scottish-accented vulgar expletives.

Leanne was almost in tears, can you believe it?

Alicia and Angelina were getting food for Oliver, to take his mind away from the pain. The twins were snapping pictures. I wanted to kill them.

"Better?" I asked, after five minutes.

"Yeah," he replied faintly, opening his eyes to stare warily into my own. Just then, the compress slipped and hit a sore spot apparently, by the vulgar utterance.

I arched an eyebrow (I had had practised for a long time to get the arching right). "Ooh, language, dear Captain!"

Oliver's respond was to poke my ribs (I was sitting on the floor) with his non-injured foot. In reflex, I made to swat the foot, but my mind was quick enough to remind me that I had done enough damage to the guest.

* * *

"Pavlova?" I offered a slice of the delicious cake to Oliver, who was still on the couch.

"Eh? Oh, thanks." He accepted the plate and made to move to make some space for me; the others had taken the floor and the armchair.

I shook my head and perched on the armrest, like I did sometimes during family talks.

The twins were playing Exploding Snap while Alicia, Angelina and Leanne were discussing something under their breaths.

"So what're your plans after Hogwarts?" I asked, poking my delicious lime jelly.

"I talked to Madam Hooch before we left, and she said I might have a chance at Puddlemere United," he answered, licking off cream from his finger.

I was tempted to, yes I know it's getting to be a habit, roll my eyes, but stopped it, because it would look extremely childish. I stuck my tongue out instead.

"I always knew you would choose some Quidditch-related career," I mumbled, as Oliver stared at my immature act of tongue-sticking-out-of-mouth. I felt so _young_ next to the seventeen-year-old. So… juvenile.

He let out a laugh, setting down the empty plate on the coffee table with a wince as he stretched his foot. I shook my head ruefully, enjoying his smile; it meant that he was having fun. I was afraid that the party would be awkward.

"So, Katie, OWLS are next year, right?"

"Yeah, was your year alright?"

"Sure, I remember I scored badly in Potions and Transfiguration, earning me scoldings from two Heads of House. I did well in Defence and Charms, though."

"What? No way, Transfiguration is _so_ easy!"

"To you! I bet your Charms aren't as good as mine!"

"Too true, dear Captain, too true," I shook my head.

"Hey people, we've got to leave; Mom's calling!" the twins came over. I looked at the clock. It was almost nine. Mom, Dad and Jasper would be home soon.

"Alright then, let's call it a night!" I called. I stood up and stretched like the cat Jasp calls me by.

The twins had to leave early, so they said their farewells to Oliver and Flooed home. The other girls left soon after helping to clean up. Oliver had no choice but to stick his butt on the couch.

"What about me?" he asked.

I frowned. "Can you walk?"

He nodded, a tad dubiously. I supported him as he stood, his weight resting on me. After a few moments of "Oohs" and "Ahs", he managed to stand upright. I ran to get his jacket as he attempted to hop around. I felt so sorry that my one step had sprained his foot.

"My mom's coming around to pick me up; I called her just now," he said, limping, with me as crutches. Useless crutches though. I was half a foot shorter than him.

We waited out on the porch. He didn't dare to sit down. The wind blew. It was rather chilly.

With his arm around my shoulders, it wasn't too hard to feel me shiver. He snatched the jacket from my fingers and before I could protest, draped it around my neck. I looked up at him weirdly.

"What? I take care of my Chasers, you know!" he said, grinning.

I smiled too, but his words gave my heart a little sad squeeze. It was a little hard to imagine us, the team, without Oliver again.

Silence crept between us, as we listened out for our parents' cars.

"Ah, there's Mom." He whispered into the still air. The red car, paint seen by the headlights, was a few hundred yards away.

I turned to my Captain. "Well, this is a farewell party, you know."

"Yes, so it is. I'm grateful for being able to get a chance to train with you, Katie, and I wish you good luck in everything you do."

"Aw, you too, sappy!" I hugged him, fighting back some tears.

"Ah, yes, before I forget…" he reached into the front pocket of his jacket, arms coming around me as he did so. It was rather awkward for me, but it seemed like a regular thing for him, the way he nonchalantly executed the deft move.

"Here, something for my youngest Chaser. Didn't know what to get for you, so I hope you don't mind it being a little late. I gave the others before we left the castle," he grinned, handing me a brown package.

"OH YEAH! Oops, sorry. Just that you reminded me of your present. I knew I'd forgotten something!" I ran into the house, up to my room, and grabbed the box covered with purple wrapping paper from my desk. Bright purple paper and neon orange ribbons look good.

"_Nice_ colour combination," he observed, a little cynically.

Apparently Oliver didn't really share the same sentiments as me when it came to colour choices.

"You're spoiling the mood," I chided him, and handed him the package. "Open it!"

"Open yours then!"

I tore open the brown paper at the same as he unwrapped the brilliantly wrapped present.

"Wow!" I gasped.

"Yeah," he agreed, the pain haranguing his foot apparently forgotten, for he was resting his foot on the ground, like a normal human.

He had given me a journal. The cover was of red (his favourite colour) velvet, with golden edges. I opened to the first page and saw a crude drawing of a Quaffle and a broomstick. Oliver had signed his name on the Quaffle.

But that wasn't the reason why we were amazed.

I had given Oliver a journal as well.

His was purple (my favourite colour; I'd been trying to get Oliver to see that it was a nice colour for years) with a mixture of small gold and silver Snitches on the cover. Inside was a red and orange bookmark featuring a much nicer drawing of Oliver blocking a Quaffle from the three goalhoops behind him. I'd signed my name in bright orange on the bottom and had inserted a moving photograph of the team, courtesy of Colin Creevey.

"Thanks," we said in unison. I grinned rather shyly at the older boy, tears burning my eyes.

Oliver smiled and patted me gently on my head. I _was_ one of the youngest on the team after all. I deserved the chance to be a little sentimental.

The car drew closer. It had taken its own sweet time.

I drew back from Oliver, gently mussing up his hair (tiptoeing to do it, I might add) and draping his jacket back onto his shoulders.

He got into the car, waved goodbye, and was gone in a minute. The tears were wiped away and I went back in.

The unspoken words still hung in the air. I could have grabbed them, but I didn't.

No, they aren't the words "I love you" or anything. Sappy hopeless romantics.

I'm just going to miss him, that's all. A lot.

* * *

That ends the fifth chapter. Thanks to all my reviewers and those who read my stories! I wrote this long chapter for you guys, to make up for the short one before this. 


	6. Complaints

**Chapter 6:** Complaints

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any characters from the HP universe. I own the plot though.

**Note: **Some scenes in this chapter have been changed to suit the personality of Katie Bell as portrayed by me. Sorry to all for the long wait. Forgive me.

* * *

I grumbled in my sleep. A blunt object was poking me in the side. I groaned and turned over. The irritating object poked me again, now in my ribs.

"OW!" I sat up furiously, hair in a mess, bedclothes in a jumble. "WHAT IS IT, OLIVER?"

"Huh?" Leanne looked confused. "Katie, it's me, and it's eight already!"

I rubbed my eyes and focused my vision. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you were Oliver," I apologised in a small voice.

"Missing him still, huh," she said as she leaned against the doorway of the bathroom. I nodded and began brushing my teeth.

It had been, what, two months since that farewell party. I was, so far, the worst affected by the departure of Oliver from Hogwarts and thus from the world of formal education which would equate (from my juvenile point of view) to my world. Even Leanne wasn't so hard hit by his leaving. She had stopped moaning around a week ago.

"Look, honey, you gotta get over him." I looked at her strangely. "Okay, that sounded wrong. Anyway, you have to let it go. He's gone but it's not like you aren't going to see him someday."

I sighed and dressed myself. My stomach chided me for waking up so late. Leanne was right. I should stop this pining for Oliver and get on with my life. I had spent the last few months depressed and generally emotional. It was time to move on. I told this to Leanne.

"Girl, it's called growing up." Leanne opened the door and we moved out and into the Great Hall.

* * *

A few weeks later saw me finally having fun and totally ignoring the newly arrived Beauxbatons and Durmstrang people and the fact that Oliver had been gone.

"Hey, I got a letter!" I exclaimed through my toast on the morning of Halloween as I took my mail from my owl Phoebe, who hooted and grabbed my toast from my plate in turn.

George and Fred made to snatch the letter from my hands but they didn't quite manage to complete their task because Alicia got to it first, waving it in victory. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if they actually find it _fun_ to do stuff like that.

"Ooh, it's from Oliver!" Alicia looked at me as if to ask for permission. I rolled my eyes and granted it to her. Leanne, Angelina, the twins and even Harry crowded round to read the letter.

_Hey Kates!_

_Please pass the messages on to the rest of the team because my owl has gone on temporary strike and simply refuses to deliver the rest of the envelopes to the school. There are individual messages from me to all of you guys attached, but the big news is that I've been signed on to the Puddlemere United reserve team!_

_Thanks from Oliver Wood._

The whole school looked towards our section of the Gryffindor table as we girls squealed and generally celebrated in a loud and embarrassing manner. The boys had learnt about the big news when they were at the World Cup. I shushed everybody (honestly!) and handed out the individual messages. The whole team had letters. There was even one for Leanne.

_Dear Katie,_

_I love the journal that you got for me. Your art's pretty good._

_Now I know that this year Hogwarts isn't going to have the Quidditch season because of the Triwizard Tournament, but I'd just like to remind you to practise on your passes and your flying, because last season you were getting just a little sloppy._

_Love,_

_Oliver._

"Idiot!" all of us except Harry and Leanne exclaimed together. We looked at one another silently for a few moments, digesting the significance of what we had done and broke the silence by complaining to one another.

"Did he say that your flying wasn't up to standard?"

"He said I was getting sloppy!"

"He said that I should cut my hair so that I'll be more _aerodynamic_!"

"My twirls are useful!"

"He said I had to work on my passes. Like what is _that_?"

"Is he going to haunt us like this throughout the year?"

"My balance is just fine!"

"I will _not_ fix my bat! I love it as it is!"

"I wanna kill him!"

In the midst of the murderous mutterings, I heard Leanne mutter to Harry, "Why aren't _you_ complaining?"

Harry simply shrugged and answered matter-of-factly. "I found nothing to complain about."

* * *

The Halloween feast was excellent, but the announcing of the champions not quite so.

I mean, who in their right mind would choose, of all people, _Cedric Diggory_ to represent Hogwarts? Well, that point is clearly moot, because the choice was made by the Goblet of Electric-Blue Fire. An inanimate yet powerful object with no mind at all, as far as I could tell.

Then it spat out a piece of parchment with _Harry Potter_ on it. Everyone went totally quiet. I don't reckon we've been this quiet before. I, like all the students, turned to look at Harry, which wasn't entirely difficult since he was sitting a few places away and that boy was genuinely shocked. I could tell that he hadn't seen this coming.

I hadn't either. He was fourteen, for Merlin's pants' sake! Fourteen in a seventeen-and-above Tournament that people have died in! Besides, how could he have bewitched the bloody Goblet to accept his name? Even Fred and George didn't manage to fool the… thing. Yes, they had a crazy scheme, but the Age Line alone would have stopped Harry.

It was so obvious that Harry didn't put his name in. I expected Dumbledore and the other students to back him up and withdraw him somehow.

Apparently, I was one of few who thought he was innocent of cheating the Goblet. Whispers and murmurs were circulating around the crowd within seconds.

A brown-haired twit behind to the left of me said to his equally-twit of a friend, "That's entirely unfair! Ced's the _real_ Hogwarts champion, not some goofy little kid who cheated his way in!"

Back in the common room, everyone was celebrating. Well, everyone except Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, me and a few other people who either believed Harry or thought he was a cheat. More belonged to the latter group than to the former, sadly.

Even Angelina and Alicia were happily enjoying the food and drinks that the twins had brought from Merlin-knows-where. I sighed and slumped in an armchair, not noticing the revelry that took place like a hurricane around me.

Maybe it was a good idea after all, to do what Oliver suggested and practise on my flying and passes. The world was crazy even without me anyway.

Thinking about the events of the year so far, I smiled to myself and muttered, "No Harry, _I_ found nothing to complain about."

* * *

End of Chapter 6. Once again, I'd like to apologise to everyone for the month-long wait. 


	7. Death And A Visit

**Chapter 7: **Death And A Visit

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any characters from the HP universe. I own the plot though.

**Note:** I'm finally revived after a year! I apologize for the exceedingly long wait. I am determined to see this story through.

* * *

It was a solemn year for all of us, I guess.

The night of the Third Task will be burned into my memory forever. We were in the stands, waiting for the champions to re-emerge from the maze. I don't think we expected any serious things to happen.

Then Fleur screamed. I believe that all of us were pretty shook. She was deathly pale as she came out. I swear, I actually shuddered when I saw her face.

Krum was next. By then, all of us were torn between anxiety and pride. Although it was obviously certain that Hogwarts would win, the state of both Krum and Fleur was… worrying.

Leanne and I were sitting close to the Gryffindor Quidditch Team. Although there wasn't any Quidditch this year, we were still great friends. But back to the Third Task.

All of us gasped as a yellow and red blur appeared.

Then we heard the screams.

"_Cedric!"_

"_Diggory's dead!"_

"_My son!"_

People all around us were screaming and shouting. I stood up and almost fell down the stands, I was so shocked at what I saw.

Fred, who was next to me and who stood up with me, grabbed me before I tumbled.

If I thought Fleur's face was disturbing, Cedric's was worse. It was a blank look, his eyes staring horrified at something in the distance. His mouth was slightly open, gaping at an unseen terror.

It was the look of death.

* * *

Cedric in death looked painfully different then when he was alive. Although he wasn't a friend or even an acquaintance of mine, he struck me as someone fun and caring. He always had a smile on his face and his laugh was infectious. And though I didn't care for his being chosen as a Hogwarts champion, I respected him for helping Harry out by brushing away all those negative remarks.

In death, he had no smile and no laugh. He was agonizingly still, like a stone statue.

All of us were gathered at his funeral. There was no laughter and not a single whisper or murmur was heard. I saw tears and handkerchiefs everywhere. It took me a while to realize that I, too, was crying.

Leanne was quietly sobbing beside me. She had known Cedric for a little while, back when they were little children, before she had moved away. My previous jibes about Cedric were laughed at and negated by a couple of stories she told me from her childhood.

Fred and George were uncannily solemn, their faces rather pale. Alicia and Angelina were silently tearing as well. I made a random note of how George's arm was around Alicia.

I sighed and focused on the service ahead. My tears tickled my neck.

* * *

"Hey!"

Oliver's voice cleared away some of the moodiness in my mind. I was glad we had invited him for a little get-together at my place. I grinned and waved at my ex-Captain.

Fred and George weren't so subtle. They rushed at him and enveloped him in a huge hug that ended on the floor. Imagine, if you will, two really tall twins running full tilt towards a bewildered Scottish eighteen-year-old.

Frankly, I was amazed that he didn't run away.

"OOF!" He let loose some of the worst vulgarities I had ever heard. Puddlemere must really be teaching him something.

The twins finally let him go after a minute of wrestling him around my garden. He stood up, his black turtleneck yanked to the side and his hair tousled. He gave his trademark Wood smile and proceeded to walk into the house, where we girls were lounging.

"Hey Katie. Angelina, Alicia." He inclined his head towards each of us and appeared clueless when we chuckled at his comically gentlemanly manner. He sat down on the sofa, in between Fred and George.

Then Jasper crashed straight into his left knee.

Between his crying and Oliver's muttered swearing, I was laughing my little head off, while Alicia and Angelina were desperately trying to comfort Jasper.

"Okay, stop it! Jasper, come here. Oliver, stop cursing!" I yelled into the chaos, after incessant prodding by my best friend.

Jasper allowed me to ice his head while shooting a death glare at Oliver, who glared right back.

"Don't glare like that," scolded Angie. She had babysat for me once or twice, and had a pretty good relationship with Jasper.

Jasp just stuck out his tongue at Oliver.

Alicia rolled her eyes and swatted Fred and George's heads. They were attempting to re-enact the scene.

"Say you're sorry. Come on, Jasper!" I snapped, when Jasper shook his head. "Say it or else he'll turn you into a girl."

"He can't."

Angie warned him. "Oh yes, he can. He's out of school now. He'll turn you into a pretty little blonde girl with pigtails and lots of freckles. You'll have a pweetty pink dress and-"

"Okay, I'm sorry!"

I grinned at Jasper's scared expression. Oliver hadn't let up on his glare at my little brother, so I whacked his injured knee for good measure. He shifted his glare to me instead, which I totally ignored. I'm used to glares.

The conversation swerved to the recent Tri-Wizard Tournament. We discussed Cedric and Harry while Fred and George taught Jasper some new pranks.

"It was so sad, you know? I heard Cho crying when his body showed up," Alicia said with a slight sniff.

Oliver shook his head. "It's bad all right. I believe Harry. I think You-Know-Who's back."

Angie seemed unsure as she said, "I dunno, really. I mean, I trust Harry and all, but it seems a little far-fetched."

I butted in. "Well, I saw his face, after the funeral. He seemed so lost. Yeah, and his face was completely serious when Dumbledore announced that YKW was back."

Surprisingly, Fred and George kept mum during the whole discussion and were concentrating hard on Jasper. Even when we asked them their opinion, they never got past saying how screwed up everything was.

Hours past by and it was soon six in the evening. Jasper was sleeping on Oliver's leg; they had patched up and he had let Jasper sit on his lap. They looked cute, actually. Fred and George whispered that they had to leave and they did, using up quite a lot of Floo powder in the process by dusting it on each other.

Alicia and Angie left soon after and I was left carrying my heavy little snot of a brother up to his bed while Oliver got ready to leave.

"Okay, all set!" I hummed as I came down the stairs just as Oliver was getting up.

It was like an echo of the farewell party as we went onto the porch. It wasn't chilly and his foot wasn't injured, though his knee was slightly bruised.

"Well, it's good to see you all again. Stay safe, eh Bell?"

I smiled, but it was kind of a bitter smile because we both knew that safety could very well be compromised in the coming months.

"Yeah, you too. Good luck with all the Quidditch stuff." I nearly bit my tongue off right then when he launched into a long-awaited speech on how his 'Quidditch stuff' had been for the past year.

I listened patiently for the first half-hour, but when seven o' clock approached, I was yearning to push him down the steps.

"… So Eric says that I could become a full-time player in the next few weeks." Eric's his friend and coach. "… and he says that since Michael isn't going to be needing his apartment anyway, because he's getting married, I can move in there." Michael's one of the Chasers on the team. "Am I boring you?"

At this point of time, I'd like to point out that I was busy counting the number of leaves on my mom's plant.

"Sorry, I get carried away." He smiled that oh-so-charming Wood smile and shuffled his feet.

You don't get carried away, dear Oliver. You _zoom_ off to another universe filled with Quaffle-shaped planets and Snitches and Eric and Michael and who knows who else.

"Uh huh. Okay, it's getting late, and my parents are coming back, so…"

Oliver got the hint. He ruffled my hair. I tried to swat his hand away, but he was, after all, still half a foot taller than me.

"Bye short girl," he teased, before darting away and running for the gate.

I shook my fist at him and made to yell, before shrugging and closing my mouth. As I walked into my home, I heard a very satisfying bang as six-foot-tall Oliver with his burly body slammed into the gate when he tripped over that red wire that Jasper had set up, with the help of the twins.

"Bye Oliver!" I yelled as I slammed the door shut.

* * *

END OF CHAPTER SEVEN.

I apologise if any characters seem OOC; I'm desperately trying to get the feel of them again.


	8. Juliet

**Chapter 8:** Juliet

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any characters from the HP universe. I do own the plot (of this story) though.

**Notes:** As there is little mention of Katie in her sixth year, I shall be glossing over a lot of stuff. Don't kill me.

* * *

My sixth year must be the worst year I've ever had. Don't get me wrong, Hogwarts is a pretty lively place to be in, with all the wonderful people in it. Even Filch and Snape are occasionally funny.

But Dolores Umbridge is not. Definitely not.

For one, she looks like a toad. With a bloody stupid bow on top of her head. Leanne drew a caricature of her once. Actually she drew an actual toad with a spotty little bow on its head and the resemblance to Umbridge was startlingly funny.

For another, she sucks at teaching. DADA is one of my favourite classes _ever_ and she ruined it effectively with her no wands approach. I dread DADA now.

I could go on and on about all her sadistic and brainless flaws but I'm about to get interrupted. My Umbridge radar tells me so.

"Miss Bell?"

Oh, how I loathe that sickly sweet voice.

"Yes, Professor?" I hardly glance up from my book.

"Could you explain to the class what exactly you are drawing right now?"

I sat up straight. I had been doodling. I tried to shut my book, but she grabbed it anyway.

"Ten points from Gryffindor and this tattered little book."

I was furious. That book was my journal.

My journal.

The one that Oliver Wood gave to me.

People, do you remember that journal?

It was a parting gift that meant a lot to me and was thus responsible for my hand hurting like crap right now. At least I got it back though.

" 'I shall not attack my Professors.' What did you do?" Fred chuckled as he read the words on my hand.

Before I could answer, Leanne told them smugly. "She flew at Umbridge and tore off her bow."

The whole area around me guffawed in laughter as Leanne continued to describe Umbridge's face when I did what I did.

"At least you didn't get exempted from Quidditch practice."

"Oh, lighten up, Angelina," George complained. She'd been pissed off ever since Harry got himself in trouble with the toad.

* * *

For some reason, Oliver finds that I find his Quidditch stuff mildly interesting. Thus, I am treated to a weekly update on Eric, Michael, Sam, Keane, Mark, Ian, Duncan and Oliver. Coach, Chaser, Chaser, Beater, Chaser, Beater, Seeker and (proudly) Keeper.

The first letter came the morning after the Umbridge Fiasco. Phoebe delivered it, hooting happily. She stole my toast again. I don't think owls really _like_ eating toast. I think she just likes to annoy the hell out of me by grabbing my bread.

Anyway, the letter read:

_Dear Katie,_

_I thought you'd like to know that I've finally made Keeper! Not bad for a nineteen year old bloke, aye?_

_Yeah, anyway, just wanted to share this with you._

_Yours truly,_

_Oliver Wood_

_P.S. Heard that Quidditch season is starting at Hogwarts. After a year of no practice, I guess you'd better shape up!_

That last line was unnecessary.

Leanne didn't even blink when she saw that the letter was from Oliver. She had a new crush on some Ravenclaw guy.

I delivered the news to the Team during the next practice. We toasted his success with pumpkin juice that evening during dinner.

Here was my reply. I reckon it was the final line that encouraged him.

_Dear Oliver,_

_Congratulations from all of us here! It's great, of course, seeing as you just graduated a couple of years before._

_Eh, nothing much has happened this week, mainly Umbridge's stupid stuff, which would bore you out of Quidditch. Know who's Dolores Umbridge? Here's a sketch._

(I inserted a small drawing of Umbridge in all her toady glory, inclusive of an extra-large bow.)

_Anyway, your Quidditch news was great._

_Yours truly,_

_Katie Bell._

_P.S. Thanks _so_ much for your advice._

Apparently, he knew nothing about sarcasm and took it as encouragement, because the following week, he told me all about how he had invented a new Keeper manoeuvre called Wood's Save.

Creative, isn't he? Guess how he came up with it. He saved a goal!

Then the next week, he gave me information on how Ian had slammed a Bludger into Duncan and almost forced him to swallow the Snitch.

The week after that, it was a story of how Sam had mistaken a Bludger for a Quaffle and how Keane saved him by batting the Bludger away. I wondered how anyone in their right mind would confuse the two vastly different balls, but Oliver clarified that Sam had had not slept for a week due to his newborn daughter.

Leanne rarely questioned the amount of mail I got from Oliver except once after Charms when I had scribbled down the fifth draft of my reply to him.

"He sends you a lot of letters, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Leanne shot me a strange look.

"What?" I was busy trying to re-read my draft.

"Well, don't you think it's kind of weird?"

I rolled my eyes. I had given up on trying to break the habit. I knew what Leanne was getting at. Her romantic sense hadn't disappeared over the years.

"What, you think he likes me?" I said this in an offhand tone. I didn't care for the answer.

"No." I looked at her, slightly interested. "I think you like him."

I let out a sound halfway between a "Pffft" and a snort. I was convinced that she was kidding. I mean, me and Oliver? Never crossed my mind.

"Why'd you think that?" I nearly screamed when she assured me she wasn't kidding.

"Well," she replied slowly, "you write him back and don't ask him to stop."

"I am nice and besides, it's getting pretty interesting." Keane's sister had slept with Mark, apparently, and those two had had a falling out. I was giving some advice to Oliver on how to handle the situation – avoid as much as possible.

"You write and re-write your replies."

"I make mistakes and my handwriting sucks the first time I write."

"You are in denial. Ergo, you like him!" She said this just as Alicia walked past. Great.

* * *

I had never given much thought of Oliver as a romantic interest. Even thinking about thinking about it makes me queasy. Oliver has always been like an older brother, an invisible friend to chat to. Besides, he's like Quidditch Captain Oliver Wood. And he's totally crazy about the sport.

And he's nineteen and sees me as a juvenile sixteen-year-old; obviously everyone knows about my habit of rolling my eyes and sticking out my tongue.

And he's rather good-looking and I'm plain; I don't get asked out much. I'm so tomboyish that my hair's the only indication that I'm a girl. I'm exaggerating, but the tomboyish thing is true.

And he's tall and I'm short; yeah, five feet three.

And he's popular and I'm a mild freak; I throw things at people when I'm sad and I laugh when I'm angry.

And he's gentlemanly while I'm far from being ladylike; I once managed to trip and show my knickers to the Weasley twins. I'm glad they're my friends.

I'm also hardly obsessing about him the way Leanne was.

* * *

_Dear Katie,_

_Your advice actually worked! Keane and Mark worked things out. I think they had a big fight, then Mark apologised and they're fine._

_We're training for a friendly against the Tornados next week, after Christmas. So, I won't have time to write you a long letter this time._

_Anyway, during the Christmas holidays, I'd like you to come down here to our training Pitch. I've got someone I want you to meet. Her name's Elizabeth Morris. Ask the team if they can come down. Or bring Jasper. I kind of miss him._

_Yours truly,_

_Oliver_

So, Oliver Wood isn't a romantic interest. Not at all.

* * *

"He's got a girlfriend?"

"I dunno, probably." I could tell that Leanne was trying to gauge if I was in love with Oliver. Fat chance.

"Where did they meet?"

"I dunno, maybe after a game or she's someone's sister or something." I was trying to complete my Charms homework; Flitwick had gone mad and asked us to write a two-feet-long essay in two days.

"Are you going to meet him?"

"I dunno, maybe." I wasn't going to spend time thinking about a possible meeting with Oliver and his new girlfriend.

"You are completely all right with it?"

I sighed and dotted my last full stop. I threw my quill at Leanne and missed. "Yes, I am completely all right with it. Yes, I'm absolutely bloody sure. No, I'm not cut up about it and I am not bottling up any feelings."

Leanne paused in her line of questioning, looked me over suspiciously and nodded.

"Well then, I guess I'll copy your Charms work now."

I rolled my eyes and started to doodle on my journal. I had to admit to myself that I was a little teensy tad irritated about this new Elizabeth Morris that had dropped from nowhere.

Before you point and yell out "Jealousy! The green-eyed monster!", I'd like to clarify that I was just irritated. Not jealous, irritated.

Like how Juliet must have felt when Romeo fell for another woman.

* * *

END OF CHAPTER EIGHT.

I need reviews for people to tell me if this is moving too fast. Thanks loads.


	9. Date

**Chapter Nine: **Date

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any characters from the HP universe. I do own the plot (of this story) though.

**Notes: **As there is little mention of Katie in her sixth year, I shall be glossing over a lot of stuff. Don't kill me.

* * *

I waited with Jasper and Leanne as the train grounded to a halt. My hands were twisted in a knot, I was just so anxious.

I was also rather furious with myself for being anxious.

_It's just a meeting with Oliver and his girlfriend. You only like Oliver as a friend. A friend. A normal friend._

Jasper was thrilled. He couldn't wait to see a real Quidditch training in progress. Leanne was slightly excited, but she went along mainly just to keep me under control. She was also slightly smug that she was right.

We stepped out of the train and proceeded to walk half a mile to the Pitch. I was glad that I had worn my warmest sweater; it was freezing out there!

Oliver greeted us at the gate. He had grown a little more muscular and his hair was longer than usual. His trademark Wood smile was a tad tired as well. Oh well, professional Quidditch takes the breath out of you. Take it from a daughter of a guy who played pro-Quidditch for a couple of years.

"Hey Katie. Glad you came." I smiled at him through the cold. Leanne and Jasper were already inside.

"And you too, little bugger!" At that, Oliver swept Jasper up and dangled him in the air. My little brother screamed and seemed to enjoy it. Leanne dragged me through the gate.

We went to the locker rooms, which smelled ten times worse than the ones at Hogwarts, which is saying a lot. A woman was sitting down waiting for us.

"This is my girlfriend, Elizabeth."

* * *

Elizabeth Morris was pretty. She was also perfectly nice, greeting us perfectly cordially and was completely perfectly friendly to Jasper. I'm not being sarcastic here. Elizabeth's a really nice woman. She asked about school and talked about her time in Beauxbatons – she's half-French, apparently, which explains her beauty. She's also rather obsessed with Quidditch, which makes her the bloody perfect person for Oliver.

They make a pretty picture, standing next to each other. I should know. Oliver asked me to take a picture of them with Jasper. A perfect family.

I think only Leanne noticed the strangled expression on my face when the Polaroid-like picture developed.

I also met all the guys Oliver told me about. I felt a little uncomfortable at first. After all, two sixteen-year-olds meeting with twenty-plus-year-olds? Awkward. Then it became better when the conversation flowed. I got to meet Sam's newborn and Keane's sister.

I was, sadly, rather wooden throughout the visit. It was as if I was there and yet I wasn't. It was very much like being inside a glass bottle. You can hear and see and smell but not very well. Heck, it's like having a wall in between you and the world.

Leanne described it as zombie-like actually. Jasper didn't really notice much; he was busy asking all the team members to give him broom rides. Embarrassingly, for all the conversation, the team members called me 'Zombie girl', which reinforced Leanne's remark.

* * *

"Oh, stop it!" Leanne's exasperated cry almost knocked me off my bed.

I blinked at her. "What?"

As with all unladylike people, she snorted and said, "Stop moping around! You've had that stupid face on since that meeting with whatshisname and whatshername."

I can't bloody believe the gall of Leanne. After a couple of years obsessing over Oliver, she managed to forget said Captain's name.

"I'm not moping!" I retorted, though, of course, it was completely and utterly true. Zombie girl, coming through!

"Girl, he has a girlfriend. He likes her, she likes him and he doesn't like you. Just forget it already!"

I stared at her, a little annoyed at this pep talk. I had no wish to discuss my infatuation with the prat from Scotland this close to the exams, zombie girl or no.

"Well, _you_ didn't give up on your bloody stupid crush on him back then! Besides, what d'you suggest I do? I bloody well know that I bloody well should give in already; he's nineteen and I'm like sixteen and I don't stand a bloody chance! And there isn't a bloody chance anyway, because he's got a bloody perfect girlfriend that even _I_ like!" After my rant, I panted slightly, having gotten up, paced around, tripped over my hairbrush and fallen on my trunk.

Leanne looked at me with a strange expression on her face.

"What?"

"Phoebe's in your hair," she explained.

I tried to glare at my infuriating owl that had her claws in my dirty-blond hair. Tried to. You try glaring at something on _your_ head and see if you succeed.

"That's not the point!" I yelled, which made Phoebe hoot in anger and poo on my trunk, thankfully missing me.

"I was fourteen, dear Kates. Fourteen with a stupid crush; I had no idea what the hell to do! Anyway, I think you should just forget about it. It's good that you know it's only an infatuation; at least you aren't in denial."

"You should stop reading _12 Steps to Quit Drinking_."

"Shut up, it's funny! Every time you think about it, you'll just feel hurt. So, it makes sense to quit it."

"Yeah, I know that. But what should I do to, you know, stop thinking about it?" I think my voice kind of cracked at this part.

"Well," Leanne said slowly, with a startled glance at my voice, "you could start dating?"

I don't date. I don't ever date. For some weird reason, I refuse to go out with any boy in Hogwarts. While Leanne goes out with guys during those beautiful Hogsmeade trips, I trudge into the local pub to drink Butterbeer and then bump into the twins at Zonko's. I don't date.

Thus my reaction. "Pffffffffft! You're not serious?"

"I am deadly serious."

I spluttered. "It's ridi – not feasible – I mean – exams – no way…"

Leanne sighed as she waited for me to stop sputtering like a kettle on the boil. I kept on fizzing, random words coming out of my mouth.

Bottom line is: I. Don't. Date.

* * *

This is a short chapter as I am desperately stalling! I really am unsure if I should continue this line of... plotting? Please R&R and tell me what you think.

Thank you loads,

_nothingville._


	10. I Told You So

**Chapter Ten: **I Told You So

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any characters from the HP universe. I do own the plot (of this story) though.

**Notes: **As there is little mention of Katie in her sixth year, I shall be glossing over a lot of stuff. Don't kill me. Sorry for the long wait.

* * *

One: Dating is overrated.

Two: Leanne is a bitch.

Three: I take Fact Two back. She is just trying to get me over Oliver after all.

Four: I am going on a bloody date.

Five: I am not going to enjoy it.

I could go on, but I'd sound like a pathetic encyclopaedic moron on repeat. I don't even remember the guy's name. I only know that he's one of Leanne's guy friends' friend who is in – oh shoot- ah, yes. Gryffindor. Or is it Ravenclaw?

My dear friend managed to convince me to go out with this random guy, believing that it would make me move my sorry ass on, given that my infatuation with my ex-Quidditch Captain was unhealthy and going absolutely nowhere.

I'd agreed somehow, determined to make the date a fiasco. I mean, I wanted to get over the stupid boy but dating ain't my cup of tea.

* * *

On the morning of my date, I knew that it wouldn't end well and I relished the thought.

"Aw come on, Katie, it's going to be fine!" Leanne snapped, taking a look at my beaming face.

"Not if I can help it. I've already asked Madam Puddifoot to get a gnome cherub to sing to whatshisname." I was actually rubbing my hands in glee.

"Thomas."

"Whatever. Thomas will be so freaked out! He'll probably think I'm desperate to marry him or something and he'll run off, screaming bloody murder and I'll be free - YOW!" I yelped as, on the word 'free', my hand had swept into my burning hot porridge.

Leanne snorted. "Serves you right. The whole damned point of going on a date is to enjoy yourself and start imagining yourself with other guys. Not playing pranks on them!"

I stuck out my tongue at her. And then froze.

Phoebe had dropped a piece of card into my bowl. He'd sent me a postcard of him and Elizabeth skiing in Scotland.

I let out a strangled croak and flung it into Harry's pumpkin juice. It was oddly amusing to see the images of Oliver and Elizabeth scrambling to get away from the orange waves. Harry looked at me with concern; hysterical laughter was bubbling out of my mouth.

Leanne hastily fished the postcard out and dried it with her wand. I snatched it up and stared at the devil that had plagued me for months.

"Stop. Stroking. His. Bloody. Hair."

I bit my lip and dropped the postcard back into my porridge. Somehow, the date seemed like a good lifeline just then.

* * *

"_Will you won't you will you won't you will you won't you marry meeeee? Will you won't you will you won't you will you won't you marry meeeee?"_

I sniggered at the look on ol' Thomas' face. It was a look of pure twisted laughter.

As the cherubian gnome disappeared huffily (it didn't take kindly to two teenage wizards laughing in its face), I flashed a grin at my date. He didn't look angry, nor did he run screaming for bloody murder. He looked bemused.

"Good idea, that. But you'd have to try harder to get me to go away." That said, the smug boy folded his arms over his green sweater and leaned back in his chair.

I rolled my eyes at him and mimicked his gesture. Both of us sat there, unmoving, before bursting into insane laughter when he started humming the cherub's song.

I was surprised, to say the least. Thomas Keefe was an interesting person. And I had enjoyed the date so far. He was, well, he was crazy, to start with. And he seemed genuinely interested in me, for some reason.

"Hello? Sickle for your thoughts?" His hand waved in front of my eyes and made me blink. It also startled me enough to blurt out my last thought.

As I spluttered to undo that last action, he frowned and looked at me speculatively. I settled for gulping down the horrible tea in my cup, cheeks flushing red.

"Why wouldn't I be interested in you? You're smart and funny. And being pretty helps too."

That was when I spat tea all over his face.

* * *

"How was it?" Leanne twittered into my ear as I sat down to dinner.

"I schpatmytfeearoverim."

"_What?_"

"I spat my tea all over him."

"Merlin, wasn't it enough to torture him with the stupid cherub? Did you have to wreck his sweater and everyth – why're you grinning like that? Stop grinning like that."

I swallowed my smile.

"I like him."

"Thomas?"

"Yes. When I spat all over him, all he did was to laugh. Merlin's baggy underwear, I haven't laughed for a long time. Not like that." Fumbling with the ends of the tablecloth, I nearly yanked the entire thing along with the dishes down to the floor. Fred's glare chastised me and I folded my arms.

"You _like_ him."

"Who?" Thomas appeared beside me, wearing a fresh green sweater. "Me?"

I smothered a goofy smile. "Yeah."

"Obviously, who wouldn't?" He nonchalantly put his arm around my shoulders while reaching for the basket of bread. I nonchalantly bit down hard on his hand and poked him in the ribs with my elbow.

He stared down at me, cradling his hand. That's right, stared _down_ at me. I am short, I admit it. His black curls were reminiscent of a brown headed Ca – no. His blue eyes twinkled mischievously and I squeezed myself closer to Leanne, who squeaked.

"You are a real Kitty aren't you?"

His soft, slow voice belied his swift motion as he stuffed my laughing mouth with a small piece of bread.

I chewed on the rye bread and retaliated by cramming another piece into his mouth. Snorting with laughter, we continued our silly little food fight with the rest of the Gryffindors looking on. Leanne, in particular, was chuckling at us. And I could see in her eyes that dratted line, 'I told you so.'

But boy, I didn't care. All I cared about at that very moment was Thomas Keefe. And that was when Operation Obliterating Oliver began.

* * *

Short chapter but I will update soon. End of chapter ten.


	11. Operation Obliterating Oliver I

**Chapter Eleven: **_Operation Obliterating Oliver (Part 1)_

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own any characters from the HP universe. I do own the plot (of this story) though._

**Notes: **_Thank you all for the reviews. Things ARE going to get interesting – hopefully. Slightly AU (this chapter) because I had to squeeze in _something_ during the Quidditch trials.

* * *

_

"PHAW!"

I shot up, looking furiously around me for the source of that sound. As my drowsy eyes peered around in the sudden light, I heard a few choice words being mumbled by the… the _thing_ I had been lying on.

"Damn it all, Katie, why'd you do that for?" Thomas said as he sat up slowly, rubbing the right side of his face.

I stared at him.

"You hit me." He clarified.

I continued to stare at him.

"You fell asleep and I was stroking your hair. And then you whacked a slap right into my eye!"

Bloody hell, and I still stared at him.

He fell back and let out a groan. I smiled a little sadly and shook my head.

How could I tell him that I'd been dreaming of the one person that I was supposed to erase completely from my memory?

I lay back down on his stomach, Thomas' stomach. It took a long time for me to convince myself that Thomas and his stomach was real, and that that stupid bloody _obsessed_ boy – no, man – wasn't.

Oh, Leanne was _so_ going to kill me in the morning.

* * *

"Bloody sodding hell, Katie Bell, you've been seeing Keefe for a year now and you're _still_ hung over Oliver Wood? Oliver Wood, the guy that is _engaged_ to his _fiancée_?"

The font doesn't do Leanne's words justice. She basically screamed like a shameless hag into my ear. And being in the girls' bathroom didn't help; it echoes a lot in there.

"Yeah." I whispered. It wasn't as if I _wanted_ to think about that idiot. It was just that the news of him being engaged was fresh in my mind. And that he didn't tell me about the engagement. He told everyone else except for me, when I've been his confidante for the past, what, one and a half years? I had had to worm it out from Alicia via owl post, which I accomplished, by the way, by asking Phoebe to drop into her morning porridge.

Why didn't he tell me? Why? Why? Why?

Merlin, I was frustrated.

Leanne sighed and sat down next to me on the semi-grimy floor. You know, for a bathroom, it wasn't too clean.

"I'm sorry Kates."

I sniffed. Oh horror, I was _crying_ over him, him that didn't even BOTHER to drop a note to say, "Hey Katie, I'm doing well at Puddlemere, as you know. And by the way, I got engaged to Elizabeth Morris last weekend. You remember Elizabeth? The perfect woman for me?" Nope. Zilch. Nada. Nothing for me. Me who had to read and write back about Keane and Sam and goodness-knows-what else.

"For what?" I managed to say.

"For yelling and screaming at you. I know it's tough Kates, and it's unfair that he didn't tell you, and I shouldn't have scolded you like a Howler."

I hugged Leanne. My tears exploded on her sweater. Crap. It was only the third day of school and I was already bawling like a rabbit without a carrot.

* * *

I rolled my eyes at the stupid giggling girls that surrounded Harry. Impatient, I was tempted to literally shoo them away with my broomstick. Hah! Take that Romilda Vane! Hah!

"Katie. Why are you, in the name of holy Matrimonial Merlin, practising kungfu?"

I turned to see Leanne and Ginny Weasley staring at me like I was mad. I was, of course. And then I realized that most of the people trying out were staring at me too. I blushed crimson and acted as if nothing had happened.

"If there's anyone here who's NOT from Gryffindor, leave NOW, please!" Harry seemed to be bursting out of his skin with irritation. I cheered him on, brandishing my broomstick so hard that it hit Leanne on the nose. She smacked me back in retaliation.

As the last few non-Gryffindors left the Pitch to sit in the stands, I felt an echo of the Pre-Match Jitters flutter in the depths of my stomach. I briefly contemplated whether or not to try to fart, but the increasing dread in my stomach was too delicious to be a stupid fart.

I discussed this last bit with Leanne and Ginny, with the effect of alienating myself from my best friend and, well, Ginny. Oh the hurt!

I was in the fifth group of Chasers along with Ginny and we flew up into the air, hovering near the goal posts. Although I had told Harry to not choose the new team based on old faces and friends, I desperately hoped to get into the team. I wanted to play Quidditch again, score a few goals and dodge a few Bludg-

"Katie, you're talking to yourself again."

I nodded absently at Ginny and shut up.

"Okay, I want you guys to pass the Quaffle in a zigzag manner and try to score whilst the Bludgers're up there with you," ordered Harry. "Let 'em go, Ron!"

I gripped my broom handle tight and prepared to fly.

* * *

"Fantastic tryout, Katie, really excellent!" I beamed up at my new Captain and turned to hug Leanne, who'd yelled obscenities at the Bludgers I had been trying to dodge.

Ginny, who was standing next to me, was also being praised by Harry and I could detect a certain glow about her that had nothing to do with the Quaffle or pregnancy. I grinned and congratulated my new fellow Chaser. Demelza Robins, the last of us Chasers, joined the group soon thereafter and we bonded a bit.

Leanne muttered something in my ear after a while and I frowned, tilting my head towards her slightly.

"Ribbaoozir!"

"What?" I turned to look at her straight in the face, braid hitting Ginny on the head.

"Oliver Wood's here!"

I snapped my head back so fast I sprained my nose (exaggeration, really). And there he was, that bloody _stupid_ prat / git / cad, strolling down the stands like he owned the Pitch. No one noticed him coming down, since they were all juniors (and hence hadn't seen him much before he left), except for Ron and Hermione, who greeted him.

I did. I noticed how his hair had grown out a bit. I saw how his nose had been sunburnt and how his elbows had been scratched due to Quidditch and skiing respectively. And I realized, in horror, that he was heading straight for me.

* * *

Chapter Eleven stops here :D There's a part 2 though, so I'd appreciate any feedback!

_nothingville._


	12. Operation Obliterating Oliver II

**Chapter Twelve: **Operation Obliterating Oliver (Part 2)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any characters from the HP universe. I do own the plot (of this story) though.

**Notes: **Thank you all for the reviews! 42 is a wonderful number – the answer to Life, the Universe and Everything. WARNING: this is a very short chapter.

* * *

Recap:

"_Oliver Wood's here!"_

_I snapped my head back so fast I sprained my nose (exaggeration, really). And there he was, that bloody __stupid __prat / git / cad, strolling down the stands like he owned the Pitch. No one noticed him coming down, since they were all juniors (and hence hadn't seen him much before he left), except for Ron and Hermione, who greeted him._

_I did. I noticed how his hair had grown out a bit. I saw how his nose had been sunburnt and how his elbows had been scratched due to Quidditch and skiing respectively. And I realized, in horror, that he was heading straight for me._

_---_

I'm ashamed to say, I bolted. Braid flailing behind me, broomstick still in hand, I ran full-tilt towards the Gryffindor changing rooms. And it didn't take any superhero listening powers or any of the Weasley twins' contraptions to hear Oliver yelling my name from across the Pitch.

Needless to say, everyone heard and saw him charging towards poor old me.

"Get out of the way or I'll hex you to oblivion!" I snarled at some third-years as I pelted towards the rooms. "I mean it!" Merlin, those third-years were slow movers.

"Katie! Katie… BELL! Get your butt over here and stop running!"

Oh grow up, Oliver. Use the word 'ass' already. Or 'arse', it doesn't matter which you prefer.

The changing room loomed ahead and I headed straight for the safety it promised. I desperately tried to remember the old password.

"Uh... Firebolt? Snitch? Quaffle? McGonagall's knickers?" I pounded on the door in frustration and fell head-first onto the side of the nearest locker. "Bloody frogs!"

The door creaked back on its hinges and locked itself as I rubbed my scalp. My broom had apparently survived the metallic crash (a miracle!) and lay on the dusty floor next to me. Filch hadn't bothered to clean the rooms, it seemed.

"Katie? You in there?" Oliver's muffled voice wafted through the wooden planks.

I groaned. The bump on my head was throbbing. I crossed my fingers and toes. Hopefully, he hadn't heard me say the password.

"McGonagall's knickers."

No such luck; my voice had probably traveled all the way to said Professor's office.

Oliver stepped in and barely missed trudging on my broom. I glared at him. The sunlight hurt my eyes.

"What the hell happened?" He shut the door on the onlookers and crouched down beside me. I noticed that his Scottish accent had roughened. Focus, Katie.

"I ran into the damned locker." Crossing my arms, I winced as he tentatively poked the bump on my forehead.

"Nice bump."

"Thanks."

"Now," he said as he planted his arse on the bench closest to me, "what was that?"

"What was what?"

"The running. And also the, ah, mountain of unanswered mail I've sent you that's probably in your room right now?" He gave me the Pep-Talk Look again and my eyes rolled of their own accord.

"I didn't want to talk to you! You didn't tell me you were bloody getting engaged. I had to torture it out of Alicia! Three years of bloody correspondence and friendship and you don't tell _me_ about your engagement? That's not fair!" I burst out in anger, probably spraying saliva all over him. He asked for it.

Oliver was surprised at my sudden outburst. "What? Alicia told you?"

I was nonplussed. "Yeah, why?"

He snorted, sounding like a horse that had crossbred with a pig. "Because I specifically told her not to."

Deadly silence ensued. Dead_ly_, not dead. My eyes narrowed as I asked him for an explanation. I swear to Merlin's bleached toenails, my eyes could have rivaled Snape's at that moment.

"I wanted to tell you in person," he sighed, taking my hand. Oh mydear Merlin's yellow palm tree-patterned Bermuda shorts…

I squeaked the word 'why' out of my mouth.

"I want you to be our bridesmaid."

* * *

Chapter Twelve ends here. It's short, I know, but I wanted to get a taste of your responses to this. Part 3 of OOO will be up as soon as I get some reviews.

Cheers,

_nothingville._


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